


In The Event Of Sincerity

by I_Write_Sins_and_Tragedies



Series: Always Gold To Me [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Bro is actually a good guardian, Bro's POV, Child Abandonment, Dave has issues but it's ok, Gen, Like serious child abandonment, but the universe has spoken and he guesses he has a baby now, in which Bro didn't intend to be a parent, non-abusive Bro, platonic Striders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 17:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20915900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Sins_and_Tragedies/pseuds/I_Write_Sins_and_Tragedies
Summary: Adopting Dave was not what Bro would call "planned parenthood". But this is his kid now, and damn it all, he'll make it work.





	In The Event Of Sincerity

**Author's Note:**

> This is simultaneously a sequel and prequel to "Good Enough". Reading that is entirely optional to understand this fic, though!

It was cold out when you found Dave. Not freezing; not snowing or enough to make your breath visible. Thank whatever powers there are for that, because you don't think the kid would've been alive to be found if it had been. You only find him because you hear him.

The area around the record shop you frequent isn't a hot spot for parents, or parents on walks. And in this weather, nobody's gonna be out walking with their baby. That's why the stray, out-of-place wail catches your attention. You cock your head in the general direction of the strange sound and you wait. The city noises are frequent and overbearing, as always, but there are lulls in it that come and go like the pull of a tide.

It's in one of those lulls that you hear another, sharper cry, and that's all you need. You're down the alley like a shot, flash-stepping to check the area more efficiently. Not that it's much of a guessing game for you. The noises are a lot more obvious now that you're getting closer to them, though they still sound weak. Most people probably wouldn't have heard them at all unless they were already coming outside to use the- Fucking hell the _dumpster_.

You almost slam your body into the metal side for how quickly you move to check it, but you manage to curb most of your momentum. Probably for the best, because holy shit that's a baby right there. A tiny, tiny little baby wrapped up in a thin-ass blanket crying its eyes out.

"Holy shit." You mutter under your breath, reaching down to scoop the kid up quickly.

Children aren't familiar to you, especially the small wriggling types, but you have some sense. You make sure its whole head and neck are supported (not hard, the kid's so small you can hold it alright with just your hands) and tuck it close to your chest. It's still whimpering, but the lil' guy seems pretty eager to press it- his- their? body up against you as much as a helpless little bundle can.

"Who the fuck even-" You trail off when your voice draws the kid's eyes up to yours. You've never seen a pair'a peepers so red before. They're not the washed out pinkish-red of a standard albino, though now that you look at them more, the lil' guy does look pretty damn pale. But those eyes are bright, candy-apple red, and the way they're looking at you feels like a punch straight to the heart.

"Shit. Shit, no, I am _not_ getting attached to the dumpster baby." You mutter. You turn on your heel, dumpster baby still held close, and start walking out to flag a cab. Flash-stepping with an infant probably isn't safe. Or at the very least, would be pretty damn unpleasant for new skin in cold like this.

If your free hand finds a place cradling the side of the kid's head, that's just because you're not an asshole who'll let a baby freeze. The fact that their cheek is cold first, then warm under your hand is proof that you're right, and the fact that the kid's stopped crying is just a happy bonus. The fact that they keep staring at you like you're the best thing since rap is not to be mentioned.

The cab ride is warm and peppered with small talk that you don't know how to navigate. The driver congratulates you and you grunt, nod along because it's less awkward if you don't answer with "I found this baby in a dumpster". Driver babbles on about how his sister had a little one recently and the baby is so cute, such an angel, he can't wait to get off work and visit, he hopes to have a couple of his own some day because it's so worth it, best feeling in the world, etc. You'd blank it out on most days, but you keep locking eyes with your little ball of unexpected and you swear the driver's droning is subliminally fucking with you, because it puts one too many thoughts that you're definitely not having into your head.

Once you get to the hospital, things get...complicated. The nurse at the front desk is understanding, she directs you to wait while she calls the right people and gets things in order. At some point in all the jostling, the kid's gotten a hand free, and now they're gripping your coat in one tiny fist while you sit in the waiting room. You glance down when you feel the tug. Kid stares up, and they smile wide at you and forget rap, you're the best thing since ever apparently.

Fuck.

Problems arise when the doctors try to take the kid from you, almost half an hour later. They go from half asleep and serene to screaming their head off and clinging to your jacket for all that they're worth. It didn't occur to you that the _baby_ might get attached to you. The doctors assure you that this is a very real possibility and ask if you'll accompany them for a little while longer. Children who get abandoned have issues, they explain. Separating you from the infant abruptly could cause further psychological damage, they warn.

You are so fucked, you think, as you let the baby grip your finger during the examination. You're so, so in for it now, you realize with something akin to slowly dawning horror as the baby starts squirming and crying during the blood test and stills when you start quietly muttering encouragements to him. You're the sucker that got attached, you despair, as the doctors lay out what options there are for the kid's future while you hold the bottle that he's feeding from.

How did this happen, you ask yourself pointlessly, two months later when you sign off on the custody papers for one Dave Strider.

How did this happen indeed.

You now have a baby to look after on top of yourself, and you have half of an idea of what you're doing. You had to take parenting courses, had to prove you weren't gonna inadvertently kill the kid. The social workers were satisfied that your apartment is in good enough shape for a child, provided you buy the right shit for one, and it seems that your income between two part time jobs and DJing gigs is enough to not get you laughed out of the room. You still get assistance from the government. You aren't complaining.

Dave is a clingy kid. The doctors warned you that might happen. Child Abandonment Syndrome. You looked it up, after getting the general rundown from the professionals. Worrying, but you signed up for this. You work with it.

When it's clear you'll have to hire a babysitter for the kid, you start by having her come over and just hanging around Dave, getting them acquainted. You have to stay right next to him at first, but gradually you can manage going across the room without a meltdown. It takes even longer to be able to leave the apartment for any length of time without freaking him out, but it's worth it when you manage to go back to work without the poor kid losing his mind.

He's still blatantly happy when you come home, and you're not going to admit to anyone but yourself that you might feel the same. There's something real nice about getting to hold him again after a night out. The novelty of feeding him is literally dampened when he pukes on you occasionally, but you can deal.

The novelty of feeding him once he switches to baby food instead of formula is almost nonexistent. How the hell can one baby make so much mess? How did he fling pear mush onto the _ceiling?_ The world may never know, but once he's old enough, you're definitely gonna see how well he does with throwing knives.

Sending Dave to primary school, predictably, was not a smooth endeavor. He was all tears and panic and desperation. Not exactly a picture of Strider cool, but since he's six years old, you think you'll cut him some slack. You let him cling to you and you rub his back as you explain that he's gotta go, but he can call you at lunch, just to check in. You've promised three separate times that you'll pick up by the time the conversation's over.

You walk Dave into the building with his hand in yours, once he's stopped crying and hidden the evidence. He's introduced to the teachers, you hand off a doctor's note that lets him keep his shades on, and make sure it's clear that he should be allowed to contact you at noon. His lip wobbles when you say goodbye, but he keeps his cool this time and sends you off with a wave and a cool farewell head-tip.

As promised, you pick up your phone as soon as it rings later. Dave sounds shaky over the shitty connection, but he assures you that he's handling it. You call him 'big man' and reassure him that you'll be there to pick him up when school lets out. The promise that you two can stop for ice cream to celebrate his first day out fills him with enthusiasm, and you make a mental note of it.

(Is it ethical to Pavlov-train a kid with ice cream?)

((Eh, it'll probably be fine.))

It's no surprise that Dave greets you with a tackle-hug as soon as he spots you. You lock up for a moment, because maybe this is a bit too affectionate for public, but a glance around shows you that other parents seem to be doing similar things. So you put an arm around your kid and ruffle his hair, and you make him completely forget about the horrors of today by asking what flavor of ice cream he wants.

By the time he's racing the sun to consume his double-scoop cone, he seems to have completely forgotten about it all.

You take him out to the same ice cream place a few weeks later, the first day he manages to get through without calling you for your regular noon check-up.

He seems to gain more confidence with age. The next year, when school starts again, he only shows open apprehension for the morning leading up to his first day back, then handles it with a level of calm that you're damn well proud of. Year after that, there isn't even a hiccup.

Dave's still a clingy kid, but he's growing more subtle about it with time passing. Instead of running up to you and hanging off your clothes, now he'll sit on the futon next to you quietly to watch TV or whatever you're playing. When you introduce multiplayers to him, he gets hooked.

He's developed a code for things he wants, too. 'Want to hang?' is his signal that he really needs company, and you try to abide by it since he doesn't actually ask often. Melodramatic spiels about how he's suffocating in the apartment and is probably going to need a walker soon thanks to muscle atrophy is how he says he wants to go play at a park, but is too cool to ask directly.

You know, little things.

Still, he's not just clingy. Kid is determined. He works hard at whatever you direct him to, and you're proud of that, too. He doesn't take long to perfect the katas you show him, learns how to work his turntables like a little pro by age twelve, keeps up his grades, keeps himself in shape. He's got some of your perfectionist tendencies, you notice, but you take that as a good sign. Means he'll put effort into his work, hopefully take pride in it when he's done.

At age thirteen, he asks you about his parents. Not for the first time, of course. He realized other kids have mommies and daddies when he was seven, after getting more exposure to 'normal' families. But this time he's actually serious, persistent, and probably not going to take "gifted to you by a ninja stork" as an answer no matter how kick-ass he thought Kung Fu Panda was.

You don't know how you dropped the ball so hard during that conversation, but you're going to self-flagellate for a long damn time for letting it slip about how you actually found him. He got real quiet when you did, contemplative and poker-faced in that distant way of his that means he's upset. He shrugged it off with an uninterested 'cool' before exiting that conversation (and the room) with an unhurried stroll.

He acts like it didn't bother him, but you can tell it did. He seems to only grow more intense with whatever he's working on in the following months, but you don't know how to approach the subject. He's gotten more closed off, even from you, and it stings. You don't want to admit that it stings. Independency is good, after all. Especially for him. You just wish it didn't feel like it was for the wrong reasons this time.

Your instincts are proven right when he's fourteen. He asks you a question that turns your stomach inside out and makes you want to punch his parents bloody. Makes you want to punch yourself. "Why wasn't I good enough?" Jegus, no kid should have to ask that fucking question.

It all hits a little too close to home for you, but at least that makes it easier for you to reassure him at the time. You think you did it right, 'cause Dave seems to relax a bit more after that talk. He's still driven and focused, but you think there's some kind of weight off his shoulders. He seems to actually enjoy the things he fills his time with again. He goes back to spending time with you.

You take him out for ice cream without any excuses or solid reasoning. You can see the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out what he's being rewarded for. It's hilarious, and you don't say a damn thing to clarify no matter how many sideways looks he sends you.

Guess you did end up Pavlov-training him in the end. Ah well, it's fine.

Dave takes on high-school and makes it his bitch, graduates early like the little genius that you know he is. You aren't surprised that his choices for college have to do with cinematography. Between his photography and a growing interest in entertainment, it seems like a natural course of action for him.

You think you take it harder than he does when he leaves home for classes, and you're glad for it. Kid's gone through a lot of effort to spread his wings and get this far. It's good to see that old fears aren't shackling him down. 'Course you two still stay in contact. No real schedule to it, just smatterings of text convos here and there whenever you've got something to talk about.

He seems happier, when he comes home for winter break. It's not glaringly obvious under the poker face and chill front, but you can pick it out. His body language is looser, more relaxed. His words are still strung together fast and spun into metaphors that go on, but he doesn't seem as hurried with them. Like he doesn't feel like he has to talk as fast and as forcefully as possible to be heard and hold attention.

He smiles more easily, you could swear it, and you find yourself doing the same. You take him out for ice cream and give him a crow skeleton for Christmas. He affectionately calls you a creepy old man, and you beat his ass in a strife for it. He almost won.

When Dave is twenty-three, he makes it big. That little web comic of his translated into pure gold on the silver screen, and nobody saw it coming. You spend the phone call with him listening as he babbles excitedly and rambles on at length about all the plans he's making, about how he's gonna turn SBaHJ into a series, he's gonna take over the film business, and so on. You for once don't mind spending half an hour just listening to him talk at you. By the end of it, you're glowing warm with pride.

He sends you a ticket for the premier and you go, of course. The movie's pure ironic genius, even you'll admit as much. You can pick up on things that you're sure no other suckers in the audience will in the jokes and plot. You can see Dave's influence in the camera work, too. In the editing. That's definitely his music, making up some of the sound track.

You stay 'til the end credits because he told you to (told, not asked, cheeky little bastard). At least they're entertaining, because of course your lil' bro wouldn't stand for a boring-ass ten-minute conclusion to one of his works. At about the midway point, you see why Dave insisted that you stuck around. The special thanks side-scroll by, because the standard upward movement is clearly too main stream. It concludes with _"Dedicated to the dumpster-diver who made this all possible. And also to myself, for more specifically making this all possible."_

If a grin makes its way onto your face for a minute, nobody could prove it.

You fly out to LA for a visit and take him out for ice cream. He pokes fun at you for it and complains that he isn't a kid anymore, but you both know he's bullshitting. He's still glowing with excitement and you tell him in all non-ironic sincerity that you're proud of him. Flusters the hell outta the kid, but you can tell it makes him happy.

"Since we're being sappy and putting irony aside for a minute here." He's straightening himself like a cat that's pretending that it didn't trip over its own feet.

"Only for a minute."

"Yeah, yeah, shouldn't take more than that." Apparently he's actually focused on this train of thought, because your interruption is nothing more than a road bump to him. "I appreciate the hell outta you, you know. You could be kind of a dick-"

"Thanks."

"Welcome. But I couldn't've asked for a better guy to raise me. Don't think I woulda gotten this far without you. So you know. Thanks for being an awesome bro and all." Dave concludes his words with a shrug, tucking his free hand into his pocket. He looks halfway ready to crawl out of his skin with the discomfort of being so open with you, but you're a bit too touched to poke fun at it for now. Finding words is actually a little difficult.

"Was worth every second of it, too." Is what you settle on, and you really mean it. Dave looks at you sidelong, his usual facade of indifference cracked wide open for you. You know things like that still mean a lot to him. You hope he knows his words mean just as much to you.

Still, this kind of emotional transparency is awkward as hell. You both seem to flip a switch and close back up, like a pair of reticent turtles going back to their shells. You crack a mean smirk at him and elbow his arm. "'Sides, you're my retirement plan."

Dave scoffs, but you can see the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He pushes you right back, rolling his head with his eyes. "As if. You're on your own, old man. Nursing homes and adult diapers ahoy."

"Aw, Davey, ya wound me." You roll your eyes back at him, but you aren't offended.

The two of you keep walking and talking, long after you've finished your ice cream and the sun's started to set. Dave tells you a bit more about the sequel he's planning for his next film and cusses out your suggestion to make a movie completely out of puppets. You needle him about how it'd be ironic and go with the subtle political commentary he peppered throughout the first one. You think he's pleased enough that you picked up on that that he grumbles an agreement, under the strict condition that there are to be no smuppets.

You'll slip one in there somewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are highly welcome and encouraged <3


End file.
